


Vicious

by BluesfeedUnsolved



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (sort of?), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to It's Complicated, Enemies to There's Definitely Some Respect There?, Existential Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Isolation, Let characters be angry. Please., Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Logic | Logan Sanders is Bad at Feelings, Morality, Self-Acceptance, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Reflection, Self-Worth Issues, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Superpowers, The importance of friendship., This is not a dark side!Logan fic., Vent Fic With A Plot, canon adjacent, vent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluesfeedUnsolved/pseuds/BluesfeedUnsolved
Summary: Logan wasn’t special, until he suddenly was.Logan's discovery of his telekinetic powers propel him into a spiral of mistakes and the question of if he really is just a tool. One little slip-up turns his world upside down. In the aftermath of it all, he finds answers, an unlikely friend, and that he is done being useful.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Morality | Patton, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26
Collections: TSS Fanworks Collective





	Vicious

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Telekinetic Logan AU. I've been extremely excited to share this. I have a lot planned for it. I'm glad that the first part of it is finally out! Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: 
> 
> Angst  
> Arguing  
> Self-esteem issues  
> Mentions of suffocating, freezing, and burning (this is all mentioned only once and none of this happens to the characters)  
> Brief discussions of blood and anatomy  
> Brief descriptions of cliffs and jumping from them  
> Please let me know if there is something that I did not mention that you would like me to.

The mindscape was in a bustle. There were things to be done. There were places to be. There were people to talk to. And there were people who were not supposed to be talking. 

Logan was one such person.

He stood patiently, moving from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again. It was a little game that he liked to play with himself; would he fall so easily? He wasn’t really allowed to play games, but one little game couldn’t hurt anyone, right? One just for him, just to wait until he was given “the signal.” The signal was for when he was allowed to interact. It could be anything from a wink, to a look, to a nudge. He never knew what it was going to be because it changed every time. But he did know that it was usually never spoken. He was sure that this was so they would have to speak with him as little as possible. He did not blame them for this. It was easier this way. Why waste their breath on him?

Logan was put into existence for one singular purpose: to help, support, and be of use to those around him. It would be counterintuitive to force others to speak to him whenever they needed him. He was logic; he should be able to figure out when he was needed. Yes, it wasn’t often, but he was constantly on guard for any signal that they did. In turn, he was also frequently told to shut up.

He took it in stride, though. It was no big deal. Time and time again, everyone else proved that they were significantly more important and special than poor little Logan. Sometimes those exact words were used. Sometimes he was given a nickname. The nicknames varied from “Lo” and “L” to more colorful ones that Logan would rather not repeat, though he heard them every time he opened his mouth (many times, he wasn’t even going to speak).

Many times, he wondered if he was simply ungrateful. They did go out of their way to bring him into conversations that he didn’t belong in, which was to say every conversation. Yes, he couldn’t quite shake the inkling that he was only there for the background. But, they did make facial expressions when he showed up. But again, many times they were not positive ones. Even Logan could see that. They did not seem to understand that Logan’s day was on a tight schedule. However, he planned it this way, less chance of being late, missing something, or doing something wrong. Sides did not need to sleep, and so he didn’t. He spent his nights creating a schedule for the following day, though he’d be damned if anyone else ever actually used it. His schedules were a work of art, if he did say so himself. His soft script cleanly painted every word; he made sure to throw away each one that was drenched in a mistake. Scheduling was his favorite task. Nothing but the quiet of the night, the imaginary moon to light his room, and the consistency of a daily puzzle. Virgil needed this, Patton wanted that, Thomas had x amount of events the next day, and it was all Logan’s job to make sure that everything happened, that everything went according to his plan. He got very few chances to have control. His schedules gave him the illusion of it, at the very least. Schedules were usually done in the early morning, around one or two o’clock. This gave him ample time to read whatever books he wanted or to simply stare out at the fake night sky. It was always night in his room. How else could he see the stars? He could see everything from his tiny little window. He knew the names, sizes, distances, etc. of everything that filled the night skies.

Everyone believed that it was the darkness that hid things within it. Logan believed that it was the light that did this instead. After all, you couldn’t see a single star in the daytime. There was a special wave that washed over him when he saw his stars, as he sat and sighed at how far away they were from him. He reveled in such human comforts. He wanted to run in the whimsy of such miniscule and human hopes. But Logan did not get to be human and he did not get to hope. Whimsy was for those who weren’t him. His comforts served no creature except for the one his body tried so desperately to hold within its walls. He felt it stir and rattle his bones. It slipped out in tiny little leaps and infinitesimal screams about everything that was out there and everything that was inside of him and everything that no one wanted to see. And he was fine with it. Really, he was. No one wanted to see the black holes, the suffocating atmospheres, and the rocks that could freeze you to death or burn you from the inside out. Everyone wanted one thing and it was not him. 

This place steadied his blood. He had been told on many occasions that he had anger issues. His immediate reaction was to yell things like “falsehood,” “preposterous,” and--Roman in particular's favorite because he would not let it go for weeks--“no, you.” Logan’s fiery pulse could not be stopped until it was brought back to the cooling cluster of stars and space that surrounded him in his room. No one else knew about this window and no one else needed to. He’d been in everyone else’s rooms. Virgil had no windows, for he believed that the daylight clashed with his aesthetic. Roman’s room was entirely windows, opened to a bright and happy field that could not look more unrealistic. Patton’s room suffocated him with ignorant sunshine.

Belief was a powerful thing. If everyone believed that you had nothing--were nothing--then you could just believe yourself away. Nothing inside, nothing to offer, nothing to give. There was no point in believing otherwise. He wanted to wish that the world worked differently, but he knew better. The world was a beautiful place and Logan was there being the only unbeautiful thing in it.

Logan’s days were like wading through a deep swamp. Every sneer, glare, and huff at the sight of him felt like another hand grabbing his ankle trying to drag him down. What was another push, another pull, another slap in the face? So, they didn’t listen? So, they hated him? So, they reminded him of what a waste of space that he was? He still had a job to do, even if that job wasn’t anything special. Even if all merits of doing his job faded (like any hope he tried to cling to), he persisted. He existed for one singular purpose and he would be nothing if he were not for that purpose. He was patient every time they talked over him. He shut up when it was clear that they preferred his silence.

Logan always felt that something was different with him. “Felt” was really the wrong word to use. Logan didn’t feel anything; he experienced things instead. He experienced positive sensations when eating jam or when being left alone to read. But no, something was different with Logan.

Logan kept a journal under his bed. It wasn't a secret journal; everyone knew about it. It was college ruled. It had a black cover. And it contained the stupidest things that people had said to him.

Sometimes these things were silly, such as Patton's suggestion that he talk about his feelings. They were illogical, such as Roman's implications that he wasn't necessary. These things figuratively stung him, such as any time Virgil passed up an opportunity to listen to his advice.

One day, Logan felt a tug. He was being summoned. This wasn't uncommon. He had a wealth of knowledge and so many people that needed to hear it. He rose up to the mindscape version of their dining room. In front of him were three sides, a mountain of pizza and drinks, and an ongoing game of Trivial Pursuit. Sometimes, it was Monopoly and no one else wanted to be the banker. Once he found them vying for power in Risk, and they were too afraid to let him play. And one time it was Clue, a subtle, scathing jeer. 

“Logan, great. We need you,” Patton said brightly, not meeting his eyes. He was too busy leaving the rule book ignored. 

Virgil looked up, saw that it was Logan, and then looked back down at his phone. 

He wanted to be wanted, but not like this. This was in the way that you wanted a phonebook. It held one key piece of information and then you would slam it back into the shelf that it came from until it sat there and rotted before becoming obsolete altogether. At least phonebooks could be recycled.

“What can I do for you?” He stared at the middle part where no one sat.

“We need you to fact check this really quickly for us,” said Patton, fiddling with the pieces in his hands rather than looking up.

“You’re playing Trivial Pursuit.”

“Yep.”

“Without me.”

“Yep. You don't really like games and we thought that it would be unfair to make you do something that you didn't want to do.” Patton smiled at him. It shined not like the stars, but like a strobe.

Logan paused. He breathed in, but couldn't find the energy to breathe out. “I see. Now, what can I do for you?”

This was not a lone incident. Logan felt each whisper and sharp silence when he entered. His mind rumbled and fought with him on whether to leave or stand his ground. 

Something about him was always out of place. He was a bug under a microscope. They would point out when one hair was out of place. The one time that he forgot his tie was met with swift laughter. He could deal with it, with all of the poking and prodding. There was always a minute pause after a joke or insult. Just how would poor Logan react? With violence? With words? Or would he just let it sink in until it hit his icy exterior? He ran experiments on how everyone else works but they were also running ones on him. How he worked. How he thought. How he felt. He was being watched for and mocked when something is so out of place from the persona he's put on for them. Just who is he? Is he what they say he is or is he what he's built up?

He was a matter of parts. A pair of glasses on a face. A pile of whispers and stumbles all tied up. They all looked alike, but there was something discernibly inhuman about him and he was so painfully aware of it.

He could spend hours drawing comparisons between himself and everyone else. The love that they felt for each other and the natural trust between them all that he would never have. Each one held a small part of something that he locked away a long time ago.

Roman, in particular and in all of his essays of frustration, was downright impertinent. Nosy, Logan would call it. Everything was his business because he made it so. Nothing could ever be left alone. And _this_ apparently included Logan's alone time during the wrapped silence of the night.

Roman with his frayed sleeves lying on the table. Roman with his gray stare into the dark. Roman with his sneer at the very mention of Logan. He just sat there, in the dark like it was a perfectly normal thing for a side to do. If it were Virgil, Logan would understand. Virgil enjoyed imagining what the dark foretold him in the early hours. If it were Remus, Logan would understand. Remus tended to pick random times to ambush him. But no, it was neither of them. Instead, it was the pretty prince all by himself. Well, almost by himself: Logan had come to ruin the fun like usual. 

“Nice to see you at this time of night,” he spat.

“Says the side who is usually crying himself silly like a baby at this time of night,” said Logan.

Roman huffed and took a swig of something in a mug. He took several attempts to properly light a candle before succeeding. “Ooh, he’s got jokes, everyone. Who would have thought? Impossible, I had used to think. Yet, here you are. Laughing, cracking yourself up, having a ball, aren’t you?”

“Well, considering the fact that you are here: I would say that I’m not.”

“Hilarious.”

“There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

Roman made no indication that he wanted Logan to sit down, but at the same time, he also didn’t imply otherwise. As he sat down across from him, Roman instinctively moved his mug closer towards himself. 

“What do you think that I’m going to do? Poison it?” asked Logan, dumbfounded. 

Roman said nothing. He simply stared behind Logan.

“What are you drinking,” he tried again. 

Again, nothing. Logan even tried looking behind him to see what was there. Again, nothing.

“Why are you still up?”

Roman removed his eyes from the darkness surrounding them.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“I figured as much.”

Roman grimaced a smile and a gruff chuckle. “You’re a real comedian, you know? I had an unpleasant dream and then I woke up. I decided that it wasn’t worth going back to sleep for.”

Logan folded his hands onto the table. He and Roman locked eyes, hard metal against hard stone.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No,” said Roman, crossing his arms. “I don’t, actually.”

“It’s been shown that talking abou--”

“I don’t have to talk about it and I don’t want to. Not to anyone. And not to you.”

It was quiet. Roman went back to staring behind Logan. Logan began staring at his hands. There was nothing to note about them. They had imaginary flesh to cover his imaginary bones. He did imaginary things with his imaginary hands. If he tried hard enough, he could see every vein and artery that made it up. Would his blood be red? What made up blood? He knew that it was plasma. That there was oxygen. The platelets and cells that flowed through it. However, when he visualized every part of himself broken down, he imagined something else inside of him. Something that would make him flash. Something that would make breaths curdle. When he closed his eyes, he could almost touch it. It didn’t laugh at him for failing to grasp it. It simply sat and waited. He’d get it one of these days. And how glorious a day that wou--

“Aren’t you going to do anything?”

Logan looked up to see Roman narrowing his eyes at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Roman cleared his throat. “But seriously, why are you just sitting there?”

“This is what I do every night. I don’t sleep. I do work. I sit here.” The buzz inside of him dimmed.

“Sounds boring.”

“It’s routine.” Logan stared straight ahead. The ringing inside of him quieted.

“Sounds monotonous.” 

“It isn’t.” The light that he wanted to grab did not leave his mind, but simply took a backseat.

Roman smirked to the fullest extent that his face would allow.

“Tell me how you really feel.”

Logan stayed silent for a moment. Something in his mind wanted out. Something in his blood pushed against its confines. “No.”

“Because you don’t have any feelings?”

“Now you get it,” Logan said with a smile. “And because I do not have to and I do not want to. Not to anyone. And not to you.”

Logan laughed. Roman laughed. Each wanted to tear the other apart, but it was best not to wake those that were sleeping.

“I love seeing Mr. Serious get dashed onto the rocks,” said Roman. 

Logan took this in. He threaded through it. He jumped from rock to rock as he considered it. He decided that he agreed. There was something to be said for pushing and falling and jumping onto the jagged edges below him. But who said that there had to be rocks at the bottom? Why couldn’t it be earth or water? The old wives tales about the cliffs always forgot about the sea; how one could plummet into the sea only to float up again as something better.

“Would you care for a game of chess by any chance?”

Roman took this in. For the first time in his life, he hesitated before staring down that damned precipice. What did he mean by this? What did he want from him? He’d never admit, but he never liked heights very much. You could never see the bottom. Who knew how far you would have to fall? Little whispers of a calm and steady voice snaked around him.

“Fine.”

Roman snapped his fingers and a chess board appeared. He immediately chose the white pieces, leaving Logan with the black ones (though he was indifferent to which color he got). 

Roman took the first move. He moved the pawn in front of his king up two spaces. Logan moved his left knight out to the right. The white bishop moved two spaces in front of the black knight. The knight retorted by moving in front of the white pawn. The bishop retreated by moving diagonally behind the pawn.

Logan raised an eyebrow and swiftly took the bishop. “Rookie mistake; check.”

“I’m not a rookie. We’ve played each other many many times before,” protested Roman, who retaliated by moving his king up one space. 

Logan’s knight moved to the right space of Roman’s pawn. Check, once again. Roman’s king went backwards next to his right knight. The black pawn in front of where Logan’s knight had once been decided to open up by moving two spaces forward. Roman moved his knight to an ample spot to take Logan’s knight. Logan retreated. 

“Yet I don’t believe that you’ve ever won.” observed Logan. He was careful not to let a smirk find its way onto his face. The game could have been nice if Roman wasn’t there.

“Yes, I have. I thought that you would remember three months ago.”

“Bold of you to call it a win.”

“Alright, Christmas three years ago, eight months ago, New Years Eve 2017, 2018, and 2019.”

“I didn’t think that you’d be able to count higher than five.”

From the deepest recesses of their bones, they growled at each other.

“This has to be the slowest game of chess that I have ever played,” said Roman either lightly banging his head against the table or trying to make the pieces fly off of the board; Both annoyed Logan.

“Clearly, you have never played with Virgil. He always hesitates before moving. ‘Hesitating’ is a word which here means ‘take twelve and a half minutes before moving a piece because what if that was the wrong move. Logan? Logan, please help’ and so on, and so forth,” sighed Logan.

Roman made a single laugh and moved his knight in position to take Logan’s pawn. One pawn was nothing to Logan. Logan knew this quite well. He had been that pawn many times, and with that, moved his rook one space to the left. Roman took the pawn and barely got a second to breathe before Logan took his knight. One space to the right is where Roman moved his king. It was something.

Roman had taken to tapping against the table. Roman loudly chewed gum. Roman stared directly into Logan’s eyes.

Logan returned the favor by never looking away from Roman as he took his turns. They dug their fingers into the palms of their hands. They dug into each other’s minds. Logan could feel his heartbeat grow. Roman debated leaving. Neither would be surprised by it.

“You’re awfully quiet, Logan,” he mused.

“Am I not allowed this?”

“I’d concede your point, but I’m not quite sure that you deserve it.”

Logan breathed in. “I could say the same of you.”

“As if I’m anything like you.”

“I’d love to know what goes on inside of your head. To be able to just say things. Stupid things. Illogical things.” He fiddled with his tie. “And because of that, you will never live up to what you want to be.”

They both stood up and slammed their hands onto the table. Pieces yelped and fell. Something stirred inside of Logan. He didn’t notice it. Roman had snapped his attention.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” Roman yelled.

“Can you not say something so collossally stupid for once in your life?” Logan matched it; He always could. Consequences be damned when Roman was there.

“You don’t even know me.”

Logan stared him directly in the eyes. “And whose fault is that?”

Roman slammed his chair back into place as he turned around. “I’m going back to sleep. It’ll be better than anything that you try to do. Good game. Let’s not bother to play again.”

Logan would have sworn that he spit, but he would never let his guard down that much. Neither of them would.

Logan began to pick up the pieces. On the table, the white king was wobbling. The white bishop and pawn were knocked over and lying aimlessly on the board. Curiously, only two pieces were on the ground: a white rook and the black queen. He gingerly picked them up and sighed.

He refused to say that he followed in the suit of Roman. The silence of the night gave him some leeway for the static in his brain and blood to play even louder. Everything went back to static after that one little taste of a spark.

Nothing seemed more real than that moment. That moment where everything fell exactly into place. Where he fell exactly into place. It wasn’t his idea to fall, but did anyone ever truly get that choice? No one chose to fall, but you could choose to jump. But, those pieces on the ground fell, didn’t they? He saw it himself. The black queen slickly pushed the white rook into joining him at rock bottom.

Something else was with him in his room then. It wasn’t another side. It was something inside of him. There are more ways to look at something than what you first see it as, it said.

Perhaps neither piece fell. 

Perhaps they jumped of their own volition.

He wanted to ponder that, but something more important came to mind. It snuffed out that little inkling that was hiding in his wires.

Logan wasn’t special by any means. Just ask the other sides. While the verbatim opinions differed, they all carried the same theme: Logan wasn't special and there was no point in really giving him much attention. 

Logan was fine with this. He had a job to do for, ideally, eighty or so years.

Simplicity was always the goal: easy to understand, efficient, and none of those complicated things that were known by other sides as “feelings” and to Logan as “nuisances”. He was easy. He had only one level. He had nothing special about him. He was nothing special. He was in this world to serve and support others. Everyone made this clear. No opinions of his own. No disagreeing with the others. Only speak when spoken to. There was no point in trying anything else. Nothing would change.

He was simple. He wasn’t special. He had no interesting attributes. He shut up, did what he was told, and followed the rules. He had a special ritual that he did every night where he repeated every single one of these things to himself until he could hear them ring through his mind and into his dreams, if he had the ability to dream, that is. Every rule, every belief, every consequence for not following them exactly was drilled into his head.

So, why couldn’t any of it actually be the case?

**Author's Note:**

> And that's part one!
> 
> I have a lot planned out for this AU and I cannot wait to share it with you all!
> 
> If you enjoyed this (or even if you didn't), check out my other works in the meantime.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> Special shoutout to Eliza for betaing this. You are wonderful. Thank you!


End file.
